


Home for Christmas

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “But what, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, frustrated. “It’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake. And you and I can have the conversation about the role that public holidays play in bolstering the Christian Right later, because at the moment, the only thing I want is you home for Christmas.”“I know that—” Enjolras started, and Grantaire closed his eyes.He knew where this argument was going to go.It was the same argument they had had twenty times over, and Grantaire was tired of always losing it. Losing to a nameless, faceless Cause because the man he loved was stubborn as hell.





	Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Have some Christmas fluff in celebration of many things, particularly at this time of the year :)
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Grantaire’s cellphone vibrated in his pocket and he swore, trying to hold the hot cookie sheet he had just pulled from the oven in one hand while digging in his pocket with the other. “Fuck, shit, fuck,” he swore, almost dropping the cookie sheet as he jammed his phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“And a very Happy Holidays to you, too,” Enjolras said, sounding amused, and Grantaire grinned despite himself.

“Merry Saturnalia,” he said. “Sorry for swearing at you, but I was making cookies.”

“Say no more.”

Grantaire leaned against the kitchen counter, still smiling a bit stupidly, like he always did whenever he spoke to Enjolras. Two years together and he didn’t think he would ever get over the simple joy that the sound of Enjolras’s voice on the other end of the phone brought him.

Of course, he’d prefer if the man himself was there in person, but he’d settle for this.

“So I know you wanted to do your folks for Christmas Eve and mine for Christmas Day, but there might be a problem with that,” Grantaire told him, idly picking a sprinkle off one of the cooling cookies. “It looks like my sister may have to leave early, so we may need to switch things around. I know you hate spending any great length of time with your parents, but—”

“Actually, that’s why I was calling,” Enjolras said with a sigh, and Grantaire’s smile slipped.

“Oh?” he asked mildly, glancing over at the clock before padding over to the fridge and grabbing a beer. “Don’t tell me the lobbying efforts for HR 1 are going so terribly.”

“They’re going great,” Enjolras told him, a little earnestly. “You wouldn’t believe the reception that we’ve been getting here. And I realize that without overturning Citizens United, it doesn’t mean a whole lot, and it’s not like it’s going to get anywhere in the Senate, but—”

“Enj,” Grantaire interrupted. “Fascinating though this is, what’s going on?”

Enjolras sighed again. “There might be a problem flying home.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared. “What?”

“There’s a winter storm coming in, and the airlines are already talking about cancelling flights.”

“Ok,” Grantaire said slowly, putting the beer bottle back in the fridge and grabbing the whiskey out of the cupboard instead. He had a feeling he was going to need a much stiffer drink than beer. “So take an earlier flight. And don’t — don’t tell me that you can’t afford the change fee, because—”

“It’s not the fee I’m worried about,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “There’s a really important meeting tomorrow, and if we cancel it, there’s little guarantee of getting these people in the same place at the same time.”

Grantaire shook his head. “These people are very likely to also be changing their flights to get out of town,” he pointed out, struggling to keep his voice even. “Unless they’re all DC natives but given what I know about the demographic breakdown of Congressional staffers, I somehow doubt it.”

“Some of them might be heading home early, but—”

“But what, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, frustrated. “It’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake. And you and I can have the conversation about the role that public holidays play in bolstering the Christian Right later, because at the moment, the only thing I want is you home for Christmas.”

“I know that—” Enjolras started, and Grantaire closed his eyes.

He knew where this argument was going to go.

It was the same argument they had had twenty times over, and Grantaire was tired of always losing it. Losing to a nameless, faceless Cause because the man he loved was stubborn as hell.

But he was also the best man that Grantaire had ever known.

And besides, he loved him, more than anything else in the world.

Enough to let this be the argument that he lost.

Every single time.

But he also knew he had to make one last attempt. “Please,” He said quietly. “You promised you’d be home for Christmas.”

“I know.” Enjolras didn’t sound tired, or sad, both of which Grantaire expected, having gone through this more than once, having had Enjolras break this promise more than once — he sounded fierce. Determined. Fervent. Everything he normally sounded about the Cause. “And I intend on keeping that promise. I will be home for Christmas, I don’t care if I have to take a train or drive—”

“You don’t have a driver’s license,” Grantaire reminded him, a little faintly, a slow smile starting to spread across his face.

“Then I’ll hitchhike,” Enjolras said impatiently, and in the background, Grantaire could hear Combeferre telling Enjolras, “Like hell we’re gonna let you hitchhike 1000 miles.” 

“I don’t care how I get to you,” Enjolras said after a moment, where Grantaire assumed he gave Combeferre the finger, judging by the faint sound of Courfeyrac laughing uproariously. “All I know is that I will get to you. Ok? One way or another, I will get home for Christmas. For you.”

“You know I’m gonna hold you to that,” Grantaire said softly.

“Yeah,” Enjolras said. “I know.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly, still smiling, just slightly. “Fine. Then get your ass home. One way or another.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Grantaire told him, before adding, “And Enjolras? Merry Christmas.”

“I promise you it will be,” Enjolras told him before hanging up, and Grantaire let out the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

He looked at the bottle of whiskey but thought better of it, putting it back in the cupboard and turning the over off before heading to the hall closet and pulling his coat out. He had just shrugged it on when Joly and Bossuet burst through the door without knocking. “I really need to remember to lock that door,” Grantaire remarked, zipping his coat up.

“You really need to remember to lock your door,” Joly told him, while Bossuet frowned and looked him up and down.

“Where’re you going?”

“DC,” Grantaire told them, grabbing his car keys off the hook. 

Joly looked at him sharply. “Did something happen to Enjolras?”

“Huh?” Grantaire said, a little distractedly, grabbing his cellphone charger and wallet. “No, he’s fine. About to get snowed in, but fine.”

Bossuet’s brow furrowed. “So they’re about to get hit by a storm, and you’re planning on driving out there?”

“Yep,” Grantaire said shortly.

Joly and Bossuet exchanged glances. “And that doesn’t seem, y’know, a little crazy?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s crazy,” he said impatiently. “But we all know it’s not the craziest thing I’ve done, and besides—” He broke off, deflating just slightly. “He promised,” he told them softly. “He promised he would get to me for Christmas. And I…” He shrugged, half-smiling. “I’ve clearly lost it, but I’m tired of just sitting around and hoping he keeps this promise. I’m not good at the whole promise thing, but he is. So maybe it’s time that I make the promise a little easier to keep.”

“And your plan to do so is to drive across the country and into a snow storm?”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah, like I said, crazy, I know.” Bossuet pulled his phone out and Grantaire looked at him warily. “Who’re you calling? Because you don’t have the power of attorney to put me in a 72-hour hold—”

Bossuet gave him a look. “I’m texting Musichetta,” he told him. “She needs to know that Joly and I aren’t going to be home for a few days.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked blankly. “Where are you going?”

“With you, dumbass,” Joly told him.

“Yeah, exactly,” Bossuet said, nodding. “What, you think you’re gonna pull this admittedly asinine plan off without us?”

“But that’s—”

“Insane,” Joly finished, nodding as well. “Yeah, we know. But it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“Besides, insanity loves company,” Bossuet added cheerfully.

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Pretty sure that’s not the saying,” he muttered, squinting at both of them as if he wasn’t quite sure if they were serious. “Are you sure?” When both Joly and Bossuet gave him identical looks, he laughed and held his hands up defensively. “Ok, ok, you’re sure.” He squared his shoulders. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Even though Joly and Bossuet followed him out of the apartment, Joly still asked, “Ok, but don’t you want to pack any clothes? A toothbrush maybe? Some snacks?”

Bossuet threw an arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “C’mon, Jolllly,” he said. “It’ll be an adventure.”

“Fine, but we’re playing my Christmas playlist on Spotify,” Joly said. “And I call shotgun.”

“What?!” Bossuet exclaimed. “You can’t—”

“Babe, it’s either that or me getting carsick in the backseat the entire way,” Joly said patiently.

Grantaire laughed. “You both realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

“Yup,” Bossuet and Joly said in unison.

“Ok then,” Grantaire said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Enjolras sighed heavily and hung up, staring broodingly up at the departures board at the airport. “Grantaire still not answering?” Combeferre asked from where he was sitting across from him.

“Nope,” Enjolras said shortly.

Courfeyrac sighed, resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. “Think he’s avoiding your call?”

Enjolras shrugged, tilting his head back to rest it against the hard, uncomfortable seat. “If I were him, I would be,” he muttered. “Who wants to answer a phone when they know it’s just going to be bad news.”

Combeferre sighed and glanced down at his phone. “Well, assuming that the flight to Cincinnati isn’t cancelled, we can get on a connecting flight tomorrow morning, and you’ll at least be home in time for Christmas dinner.” Enjolras nodded slowly, though he stopped when Combeferre swore under his breath. “Nevermind,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Flight to Cincinnati is cancelled.”

“That’s it,” Enjolras said, standing. “I’m hitchhiking.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, sitting up. “You’re not hitchhiking,” he said impatiently. “You’re a stupidly good-looking twink and you hitchhiking is literally how a true crime special starts.”

“So what’s your plan?” Enjolras snapped. “Because not getting home is not an option.” He glanced back up at the departures board as if it had magically changed. “At least, not one I have any desire to take.”

“My plan involves a car rental service and your parents’ AmEx,” Courfeyrac told him.

Enjolras scowled. “What am I supposed to do with my rental car? I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Yeah, I know, and that’s something we should really revisit at some point, but while you may not have your driver’s license, I do.” 

He looked expectantly at Enjolras, who just stared back at him. “So what are you going to do with a rental car?”

Courfeyrac groaned and turned to rest his forehead on Combeferre’s shoulder, and Combeferre sighed, reaching up to pet Courfeyrac’s hair. “Enjolras, Courf is going to drive your idiotic ass home in a rental car.”

Enjolras blinked. “Wait, what?”

Courfeyrac just groaned even louder. “Why is he so dumb?” he asked plaintively, his voice muffled by Combeferre’s shoulder.

“He’s not dumb,” Combeferre said patiently. “He’s self-centered, sure, and seems to think that the two of us are just going to let him waltz across the country in the middle of a blizzard without doing anything whatsoever to help him, but he’s not dumb.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Right?”

Enjolras opened his mouth and closed it again. “I don’t get a choice in this, do I?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” Enjolras sighed. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

 

Enjolras closed the door the cheap motel room behind him, shivering against the cold night air as he leaned against the railing, looking down at the snow-covered parking lot. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed Grantaire’s number without looking. “Hey,” Grantaire said, sounding tired, and Enjolras perked up.

“You answered,” he breathed.

“Yeah, sorry about not answering earlier,” Grantaire said, and to his credit, he sounded genuinely sorry. “I was a little busy earlier.”

“Not making more cookies, I hope,” Enjolras joked. “You know that oven hates you.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “No, that oven hates  _ you _ . I somehow manage just fine without burning even the simplest of recipes.”

“That was one time!” Enjolras protested. “I misread 16 minutes as 160!”

“And not once did you think that two hours and forty minutes was an awfully long time to bake a cake?”

“Well obviously in retrospect—”

Grantaire laughed. “I love you,” he said. “Even though you can’t bake worth shit.”

“I love you, too.” Enjolras paused, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I have to tell you something, and Grantaire, I am so,  _ so _ sorry—”

“You’re not gonna make it home for Christmas,” Grantaire finished. “I kind of figured that out for myself.”

Enjolras sighed. “I’m sorry,” he started, but Grantaire cut him off.

“Don’t be. There’s a reason I call you Apollo and not Boreas and it’s because you don’t control winter storms.”

“And yet the fact that I also don’t control the sun, music or healing has never once stopped you.”

Grantaire ignored him. “Besides, if anyone should apologize, it’s me.”

Enjolras frowned. “Why should you apologize?”

“Because…” Grantaire hesitated. “Because I was trying to drive out to DC to meet you. I thought, since you probably weren’t going to make it home to me for Christmas, I would at least try to bring Christmas to you.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I know it was dumb,” Grantaire said with a wry chuckle. “And even dumber since I’m stuck in the middle of fucking Ohio — worst goddamn state in the union, I swear, and I know Mississippi should really take that crown, but God, I hate Ohio.”

Enjolras laughed loudly, his breath fogging in the air. “It’s definitely in the bottom ten,” he assured Grantaire. “Where in Ohio?”

“Somewhere just outside Columbus, I think,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “We’re staying in this fleabag motel—”

“We?” Enjolras questioned.

“Oh, yeah, Joly and Bossuet insisted on coming with me. Because idiocy loves company.”

“Pretty sure that’s not the saying,” Enjolras said mildly.

“Whatever,” Grantaire muttered. “So we got to Columbus and everything was fine, but then we barely made it out of town when the snow hit, so we had to stop in this podunk town at some shitty motel called — I don’t even remember, something dumb with flamingo in the title, which is doubly stupid since I doubt this place has ever once seen a flamingo—”

Enjolras stared at the flickering neon sign in front of the hotel, which was flashing FLAMINGO LAKE MOTEL against the starry sky. “Flamingo?” he repeated faintly.

“Yeah, like I said, it’s dumb—”

“Where are you now?” Enjolras interrupted.

“Where do you think, Apollo?” Grantaire asked with a laugh. “Bar across the street from the dumb hotel. With an equally terrible name, I might add. ‘Hole in the Wall’. I mean it’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

Enjolras squinted, barely able to make out the sign on the bar across the street, lit by the neon Bud Light and Coors Light signs that flanked it.

Hole in the Wall.

He felt the breath catch in his throat. “Grantaire,” he started, barely able to speak, “go outside.”

Grantaire was quiet for a moment. “Uh, Enj, no offense, I’m sure this is about to be a very sweet moment where you and I look at the moon and realize we’re looking at the same moon—”

“The fuck?” Enjolras said distractedly.

“—But it’s like fucking freezing outside, and I’m gonna just take your word for it that we’re looking at the same moon.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated loudly. “Shut up and go outside.”

He heard Grantaire heave a sigh, heard the scrape of a bar stool, heard Grantaire mutter, “This is so fucking stupid, Enj, I swear to God—”

Enjolras watched the door of the bar open, watched Grantaire step outside, scowling. “Alright, I’m outside,” he reported. “Happy now?”

“So fucking happy,” Enjolras told him, hanging up.

He took the stairs by two, practically running across the parking lot, and he barely even checked for traffic before darting across the street. “I swear to fucking God, you better not have hung up on me,” Grantaire was growling mutinously as he jabbed at the screen of his phone.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras called, grinning. 

Grantaire looked up at him.

And then he dropped his phone.

“Enj?” he managed.

It was the only thing he managed to choke out before Enjolras kissed him. Grantaire kissed him back automatically, grabbing Enjolras by the hips and pulling him flush. Then, abruptly, he pushed him away. “Hang on a second,” he said. “You’re supposed to be in DC.”

“And you’re supposed to be at home,” Enjolras reminded him, leaning in and nipping his lower lip lightly. “Looks like we both had the same idea.”

“And both wound up in the worst town in the worst state,” Grantaire said, a small smile crossing his face.

“Honestly?” Enjolras murmured, pressing kisses along the underside of Granaire’s jaw. “Ohio’s beginning to grow on me.”

Grantaire laughed and kissed Enjolras once more. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said quietly. 

“Same,” Enjolras said softly, though something tightened in his expression, and Grantaire frowned.

“What?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“Enjolras, I’ve been listening to all the stupid shit you’ve said for years,” Grantaire said with a wry grin. “Heaven forbid I stop now.”

Though Enjolras gave him a look, he still managed a tiny smile. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make it home for Christmas.”

Grantaire tilted his head slightly. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I did.”

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

Grantaire gave him a small half-smile. “You’re my home. And I made it to you.”

Enjolras’s expression softened and he leaned in and kissed him. “I love you,” he whispered. “But that was incredibly corny.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras laughed. “So romantic,” he teased. “But same.”

“But same,” Grantaire repeated. “And you accuse me of not being the romantic one.”

Enjolras laughed again and kissed Grantaire once more. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire,” he said.

“Merry Christmas,” Grantaire whispered. “And God bless podunk Ohio.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Enjolras said with a laugh.

“Yeah, but am I wrong?”

Enjolras pretended to consider it for a moment. “No,” he allowed. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Huh,” Grantaire said. “Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Grantaire grinned. “So romantic.” He kissed Enjolras. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “I love you, too.”


End file.
